More than Pride
by annewithagee
Summary: "She was a mistress of her own fate, ready to curve her own future. She was a fighter, refusing to give in to her own, cruel demons. And no one could take it away from her, not anymore, neither with words or deeds, because right now she felt strong enough to stand up for herself. If only Gilbert didn't spoil it with his jokes." Shirbert, Anne with an E.
1. I like imagining better

_Author's note: Good day to you, Kindred Spirits!_

 _Welcome to another story of mine, this time - the first time - a multi-chaptered one._

 _I just want to prevent possible confusion: the chapter below has already been posted as a separate short story under the same title as the chapter itself. It is not a mistake, so don't be alarmed - and if you have already read the fic, well, feel free to skip to the other chapter at once._

 _I hope you will find the story entertaining enough, and please let me know if you do!_

 _With love, annewithagee_

* * *

Anne Shirley-Cuthbert didn't sleep well that night.

In all honesty, she wished she hadn't slept at all, for in such case she would have been nothing more than tired, instead of weary and disturbed as she was right now. No, she didn't lack sleep – and that was what made her night so feverish, so _painful_. It was those scraps of time when she fell into slumber, the short naps that instead of rest gave her that horrible, irrational exhaustion.

It was the dreams, the nightmares that came to her every time as she as much as closed her eyes.

No, not dreams; not nightmares, even.

Memories.

 _"You red-headed witch."_

She took a deep, sharp breath, still unable to decide whether she wanted to get out of bed in one jump, leaving the horrors of her past behind her, or whether she'd rather tuck herself neatly under the duvet, curling up and pretending this false protection from the outside world would be enough to make her feel better. Maybe if she focused on something pleasant, like Princess Cordelia and another adventure of hers, she would calm down a little; maybe she'd even feel happy.

 _"I like imagining better than remembering."_

Even this, however, didn't seem to work that well that morning. Summoning Cordelia did not make her think of balls and castles, but of the constant, merciless mockery. The girls at the orphanage laughing, always laughing at her – her imagination, her big words, her looks.

Her skinny silhouette.

Her many, many freckles.

Her _hair_.

She shook her head and opened her eyes, determined not fall into the hole of fear and despair that was once again looming before her. She shouldn't be thinking of her looks right now, Marilla had already told her so more times than she could count – and if the last year had taught her anything, it was that she should not try to change her appearance, let alone her hair. No, one haircut was more than she wished for for a lifetime.

And yet, it still hurt so much.

A noise came from downstairs, clearly indicating that Marilla was up, starting the day together with the rising Sun. Anne sat up on the mattress, listening closely, half-expecting to hear her guardian's step on the staircase; but she heard no such thing. It was still early, and although Miss Cuthbert certainly wasn't the one to tilt to anyone's lazing around, Anne realised she wasn't expected to be up and ready for at least some time now.

She plumped down on the bed, her cheek hitting the soft pillow once more. She frowned when she felt the wet stain left on it, something she hadn't been aware of earlier. Again, she lifted herself on her elbows a little, ready to examine the damage caused by -

Her tears, of course.

She had been crying again.

She blinked repeatedly and felt another drop slide down her face before she wiped it away. She'd assumed the only reason why her vision had been so blurry was her tiredness; now she knew there was more to it.

Anne held her breath as another sound reached her ears as the realisation dawned on her. Skinny or not, freckled or not, she must have looked terrible after a night like this. Her hair was not only red, but completely dishevelled as well, and she was more than sure she had dark bags under her eyes, which in turn probably matched her hair in colour at the moment. It wasn't vanity this time, she knew that much – at this moment she had much more noble reasons for paying her own appearance so much mind.

Marilla would notice.

And then she'd get worried, which was bad enough on its own, and would become even worse after, when she'd start asking questions. No matter if Anne would answer truthfully, the inquiry would surely bring the memories back and Heaven only knew whether she could bear to keep her emotions hidden inside.

In a second, she made up her mind. She got up from the bed and folded her covers neatly, all while trying to remain as silent as possible during such a task. She walked towards the mirror, ready for the most terrifying sight on earth, only to be greeted by a slightly strained face and hair far less spiky than she'd expected it do be. Her sleepiness was gone too, making her look much more lively, even if it wasn't peaceful.

All in all, not all hope was lost for her.

Still, her eyes spoke of her exhaustion and as long as she didn't take care of that, she had no business in coming downstairs or even more so, greeting Marilla in her own little room. So she wiped away the rest of the tears that still lingered on her lashes and set off to work over the wide metal bowl, ready to splash the cold water on her face. The water was, indeed, icy – but just this once, Anne found herself grateful for the fact. In a few seconds the embordering of her eyes went from red to pink, allowing the girl to believe that by the time she combed and braided her hair all traces of her untimely distress would be gone and, with a little work and luck on her part, even forgotten. Her tangled hair turned out to be of help in that, as she needed a few good additional minutes to gain any control over it – but, as mentioned afore, it only made her gain the time necessary for her flushed skin to come to its regular hue.

She sprayed some more water on it just to make sure she hadn't neglected anything – and with that, she was gone downstairs.

She could handle this, couldn't she?

"Good morning, Marilla," she announced cheerfully, hoping the tone of her voice wouldn't seem forced or worse, fake. It _was_ a good morning, after all, and she _knew_ it; she just didn't feel it entirely just yet.

Marilla gave her a stern, astonished look. "You're up early."

"Oh, I really am not," Anne protested, sending her guardian a radiant smile as she walked towards the cupboard and took out their everyday dishes and cutlery. "It's barely twenty minutes before my usual get up time, and to be completely honest, how could one sleep in – or simply sleep at all – on a morning so lovely as this?"

Again, her words, so seemingly far from the truth, were nothing but genuine. The morning was indeed beautiful – crisp but fresh, chilly but bright, and Anne knew it would only grow more delightful as time progressed. Focusing on her work made her think less of the disturbances of the night as well and she was already beginning to feel better altogether. It was Green Gables she was at, for goodness sake, not any of the horrid places she had ever had a misfortune to live at.

It was also real, unlike the lands she'd so frequently dreamt of. She was here, and she was loved – and all of it was true.

 _Maybe that's the point,_ she realised suddenly, placing the plates on the neat, empty table. _Maybe imagining, while most certainly better than remembering, is still nothing compared to actually_ _ **living**_ _._

Hadn't she once said that coming to Avonlea was better than anything she could ever imagine on her own?

"Lovely or not, you're as skittish as always," Marilla's voice tore her from her reverie the very second she came to her revelation. "Matthew's gone to Carmody, he won't be accompanying us at breakfast. I told you that twice last evening."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Anne stuttered in surprise. "I did not think of that. Matthew's presence at breakfast is such a natural thing, it didn't as much as cross my mind it could be otherwise, no matter the circumstances. Although now that I think of it, I can remember you say he was to be absent today. Would you mind telling me why he went, again?"

"Why, business, of course," the older woman responded matter-of-factly, as usual trying to make her voice sound harsh and scolding; an attempt as noble as pointless, for everyone, Anne included, knew she could not be truly cross with the red-haired girl she'd come to call her own. Still, Marilla believed it was her duty as Anne's warden to keep up appearances, as feeble as it may have seemed. "Although I don't see why I should tell you anything more, since you're as good as forgetting it now."

"Oh, that's not true at all," Anne opposed, her grin not fading in the slightest. "I have great memory, even Miss Stacey says so, if only I choose to use it properly. That's what Miss Stacey says too, for she also believes the only reason I sometimes fail to provide a good answer is because I decide to remember things not worth remembering. At least she doesn't mean remembering poetry by that, as so many people I've met so far did. I am pretty sure Mr Phillips did as well, even though he was – he is – a teacher and it is my belief that teachers of all people should encourage children to read poetry and to learn it by heart. In fact, Miss Stacey agrees that -"

"Oh for Heaven's sake, Anne!" Marilla decided to cut her off at last. "Almost two years spent in this house and you still talk as much as on the day you first came here. Now, I don't doubt Miss Stacey agrees with whatever crazy ideas you shared with her, but she won't be any more understanding towards you when you get late to school than she is to the other children."

Anne laughed quietly over her untouched food.

"I'm sure I won't be," she protested. "I got up earlier today, after all – or didn't I?"

"Yes, and you're on the best way to waste all of that precious spare time on your blabbing when you could eat your breakfast in peace for once."

Anne did not dare respond to that. With a smile, she bit onto the slice of bread she'd been holding and proceeded with her meal in silence, only sending her older friend teasing, yet most loving glances which the latter tried to ignore.

 _Yes,_ Anne thought, _out of the three – remembering, imagi_ _ni_ _ng and living – l_ _i_ _ving surely is the most pleasant one._


	2. No jokes, no teasing, no flirting

Hours passed by and with each of them Anne felt more certain that the realisation she had come to this morning was as true as it had felt at first. Her walk to school would have been a reason enough, with the warm wind caressing her cheeks and Diana chattering animatedly for almost an entire way. It was an unusual case, with Anne's general eagerness to speak – but it looked like Diana had more than a word to share with her friend as well, and just this once, Anne was happy to just listen, enjoying the company of her dearest Kindred Spirit and trying not to think about the demons that had haunted her before.

She knew that the less she'd think of them, the more likely they would be to leave her mind and soul in peace.

Besides, the other girl's presence was just another proof of how truly happy her life had become already. Having Diana as a friend was a miracle she'd never stopped being thankful for, and her loyalty had already given Anne the chance to start and maintain many other friendships. She walked to school with Diana – was greeted cordially at the threshold by Ruby – and then welcomed with sincerity by the rest of the girls. Had Cole been there, he surely would have done the same, but even in his absence, she could still count on a smile and a nod from the other side of the room where the boys stood, occupied with their own, mysterious business.

Apparently, being friends with Gilbert Blythe wasn't such a bad idea after all.

What helped her more than anything, however – and was in no way surprising, either – was the presence of Miss Stacy, as well as her determination to busy her students with all kinds of sensible tasks. She by no means wanted to exhaust them, and was very careful not to do so and yet, the fact remained: no matter how kind or understanding Muriel Stacy was, she would not tolerate wasting the precious little time they had on daydreaming and self-pity.

She was as consequent in her strictness as she was in her kindness – and there wasn't a quality for which Anne Shirley-Cuthbert could feel more grateful for at the time. Too occupied to wonder much about anything other than her current subjects and tasks (even geometry didn't seem _that_ horrible that day), her mind became at ease. She was feeling safe now – and by the end of the day she'd already forgotten that she had been unwell at all.

And she certainly didn't expect it to change.

"Alright class, there is one more task I have planned for you for today," Miss Stacy announced then, her usual enthusiasm ringing in her voice as she finished collecting her pupil's slates, a complex equation written proudly on each of them. "It is a group project, in a way, and it's duration depends solely on your own pace of work. It should not take you any longer than till the end of the lesson however, and I'm quite sure that most of you will finish it long before that time. And since it is the last thing you'll be focusing on today -"

"We can go home early!" an excited voice cut the teacher off mid-sentence.

Anne rolled her eyes with a smile, while the teacher glared indulgently at the boy in the back of the room.

"Yes, Moody, that's exactly what it means," she admitted. "But I still need to see the task fulfilled before that happens."

The children laughed cordially when Moody blushed in embarrassment and sank lower in his chair. Miss Stacy shook her head with understanding and clapped to regain her class's attention.

"Alright, then," she said firmly, determined not to lose any more of their precious time – especially as she knew that, contrary to her own encouraging words, there were at least a few students who needed it to finish their assignment before the end of the lesson and she certainly didn't want any of them to stay longer than their usual timetable required. "I'm sure you'd like to know the details of what is coming for you. I said it was a group project; but perhaps that's a slightly inaccurate word. What I want you to do is to work _in pairs_ and try to interpret a short poem I have chosen for you."

Anne shifted excitedly and glanced at Diana. Her bosom friend responded in the same way.

"I am sure you'd love to work on the assignment as usual, with the person that sits right next to you – but it won't do this time," Miss Stacy continued with the same warm smile, the corner of her lips twitching ever so little as she cast short glances at her agitated pupils. "The very point of this task is to see how well you can work with someone you don't know so well, someone you haven't had a chance to work with before. Now, I don't think I know you well enough to decide which arrangement would be best, so I am not going to pick your pairs for you; it will be decided by a draw instead, as it seems to be the fairest way to do it."

"Excuse me, teacher," Josie Pye opposed in her sweetest voice, the same which everyone had learnt to recognise as fake and derisive by now. "But doesn't it create a risk that some of us might be paired with someone they actually _do_ know? I mean, what guarantee do we have that, let's say, Anne Shirley won't end up working with Diana Barry?"

Anne hardly managed to refrain from snorting; Diana wasn't much farer from that.

Miss Stacy, however, didn't appear surprised in the slightest. She gave Josie another warm smile of hers. "That's a very good observation, my dear, and a question fully justified. You may stop worrying, though. I can promise you that Anne will not be paired with Diana – or with any other girl, for that matter."

A wave of whispers and gasps went through the class in response to her words. Some girls covered their mouths with their hands, astonished, other, like Jane Andrews, seemed to have frozen in space for the few seconds that followed. The boys snickered and smirked, deciding to exchange their comments immediately after – and there wasn't a child in that room whose eyebrows would not have risen at hearing her words.

Miss Stacy kept her composure perfectly, like the good teacher she had been taught to be, and only she knew how much satisfaction the more dramatic part of her felt.

She coughed gently. "Alright, students. I can imagine your surprise at the news but that is no reason to start a row now. You're in here _together_ and you're supposed to be friends, which means you need to learn how to work with one another. Now, I know that there had been some... troubles concerning the cooperation between boys and girls in this class but that's all the more reason to focus on it today. Whatever happened in this classroom earlier, whatever animosities you hold towards each other, I want you to forget about them today. I expect you to approach the matter maturely. No jokes, no teasing, no _flirting_ ," she emphasised, trying not to look at anyone in particular. "Just work. You will be allowed to talk, although I'd like you to try and avoid it – it will make the task this much more interesting. Any questions? No? Good. I think we may as well start now."

She turned around and walked up to her desk and took a small wooden box that was placed on it. Her fingers touched the small cards hidden inside it. "What I have here is the boys' names written down and mixed. I will say a girl's name first, then draw the boy's name from the box and thus a pair will be made. We'll start from the back of the room."

Eighteen pairs of eyes were fixed on her hand; eighteen pairs of ears waiting for her to speak.

"Josie Pye – you're paired with Moody Spurgeon today."

Josie let out a groan but nodded towards Miss Stacy nevertheless. The latter thought it might not have been the best of starts, what with the rest of the class chuckling again; but it was a start and it had to do.

In fact, it all went rather smoothly from there.

"Ruby will be devastated if she doesn't end up paired with Gilbert," Diana whispered into Anne's ear as their teacher continued with the draw. "A moment more and she'll fall down from her chair; she's been sitting on the verge ever since Miss Stacy explained the pairing system."

"Well, I wholeheartedly wish she is paired with him then," said Anne calmly. "Ruby is a sweet girl and everyone deserves to have their dreams come true every once in a while. Even if I can't possibly understand those dreams myself."

"Jane Andrews and… Billy!" Miss Stacy announced, causing Diana to pause in surprise before she had a chance to utter a proper comment to her friend's declaration. At the same time, Anne sighed quietly with relief; she preferred not to imagine Billy's reaction to him being paired with _her_.

"But he's her brother!" She heard Diana exclaim that very second. "That doesn't make any sense to pair them!"

"Oh, and I bet they do plenty of studying together at home," Anne contradicted her with a sceptical grin that involuntarily crept on her face. "Billy seems to be just the kind of older brother who'd do that."

Diana only shook her head. "That's probably true. But you know, if I got to choose, I'd like to work on this assignment with Cole. I wish he was still here."

"Or that Jerry went to school with us," was Anne's innocent response. A spark appeared in her eyes when she saw Diana blush.

"That's – that's ridiculous, Anne," she tried to protest. "All I'm saying is that I'd rather work with a smart and kind friend, _like Cole_ , than with someone as self-righteous as Charlie Sloane. But knowing my luck, he will be exactly the person I'll get to work with."

"I'm afraid there's no such thing as _your luck_ then, Diana," Anne stated evenly.

"Why would you say that?"

"Because Charlie has just been paired with Ruby."

That he had been indeed, and Ruby's reddened cheeks and trembling chin were the best proof of it. Anne tried to send her distressed friend an encouraging smile, which then caused her to miss the name of the boy chosen for Diana – and to see the change on Ruby's face when it was finally pronounced.

She didn't understand why Ruby turned away from her with a frown then, or why Josie gave her another of those infamous death glares of hers (although by comparison, that was certainly less surprising), or why Diana smiled so smugly when Anne finally turned back in her seat and looked at her.

That was until Miss Stacy looked directly at her and explained with a smile, "With only the two of you left, it can't come as much of a surprise, but I think we should do justice to the formalities and announce it officially. Anne, you are paired with Gilbert Blythe."

* * *

 _Author's note: As promised, the second chapter is here, too._

 _I hope you have enjoyed it no less than the first!_

 _God bless you all, Kindred Spirits  
annewithagee_


	3. I just wish we weren't paired

Anne kept staring at her teacher long after the latter had finished her announcement, shocked, dumbfounded and in the general state of utter disbelief.

 _"You are paired with Gilbert Blythe."_

Oh, why was she even surprised? _Of course_ she was paired with him.

"And you talk of having bad luck," Anne murmured under her breath even though – or maybe, because – she well knew Diana could not hear her among the confusion that had suddenly arose in the room. She didn't bother to repeat her statement when the latter gave her a curious look or mumbled an absent-minded _"Sorry?"_ , instead waving her hand dismissively and just shaking her head. She really didn't feel like dwelling on the topic; especially seeing that Diana's mind was already set on the task at hand.

Anne couldn't help but think how fortunate it was that she happened to be sitting by the window for once. If she had not, she would have been expected to leave her place and join Gilbert by his desk, which obviously meant having to cross the whole room on yet another walk of shame. In her mind she might have known that she had no reason to be ashamed this time and that if some people had problems with her _entirely accidental_ cooperation with said boy, it was their problems, not hers – but in her soul and heart she still felt the pang of anxiety at the thought that this _accidental_ occurrence could still affect her relations with others.

She was too preoccupied with that problem to think of that it could affect her relationship with Gilbert himself, too.

What mattered now was that she had at least been spared the staring that would have undoubtedly been her share had she been forced to leave the reasonably safe haven of her seat. She didn't have to go anywhere. She would sit, and she would wait, gazing at the fields outside, humbly hoping that Ruby would not make too much fuss over the adverse events of today.

"Is this seat taken?"

Anne rolled her eyes but decided not to fight the smile that involuntarily appeared on her face.

"You know it's not," she answered with mock hostility, deciding not to look at the boy unless it was absolutely necessary. She heard him hum in amusement and rolled her eyes again, imagining the lopsided grin that certainly bloomed on his face. "And you better take it before I ask Miss Stacy to let me work alone."

Gilbert wisely refrained from a comment for the time being, focusing on placing his writing equipment on Diana's desk instead.

"I'm sorry you're stuck with me on this," he whispered when he was securely seated on the bench; Anne glanced at him, surprised with the genuine, almost apologetic tone of his voice. "For your sake. I can't say the same for myself."

"Why would you say that?" she asked, abashed.

"Well, your reaction wasn't exactly... _enthusiastic_ ," he explained patiently before letting out a small chuckle. "Your eyes grew so big, I thought you might get up and run away on the spot."

"That's not what – I didn't mean to – oh, stop it, Gil!" Anne stuttered in response, silently cursing her sudden inability to create a coherent sentence. She was confused enough as she was; Gilbert's idiotic grin was of no help to her. "Stop smiling at me like this! And stop mocking me. I was surprised, that's all – and you should know I don't run away just because I'm a little distressed. Not anymore, anyway."

"Yeah. Anyway."

Anne was saved from answering that vague, seemingly meaningless statement that for some reason had made her smile grow wide, when Miss Stacy tapped on her own desk. She fixed her gaze on her teacher at once, although she couldn't help but glance at Gilbert beforehand; his mouth was twitching into a soft smile again.

Somehow, it was nice to think there were memories only the two of them shared.

"Alright class, I want you to listen to me carefully," Miss Stacy proceeded. "I'm going to give you copies of Lord Tennyson's poem, one copy for a pair. You are to read it together, _quietly_ , and then try to interpret it in the best way you can. The trick is however, you are not supposed to plan it."

"How can we write anything good if we can't think it over first?" came Josie Pye's indispensable remark.

Once again, Miss Stacy only smiled. "You are more than welcome to think it over, my dear. What I don't want you to do is to discuss it with your partner, for that would spoil the very sense of this exercise. Now, if you'd just let me finish, I think I could explain it to you quite clearly."

Josie fell silent. The rest of the class remained the same.

"To sum it up shortly," the teacher picked up after the pause. "Instead of discussing the plan of action, I want you to take action from the start. There is a piece of blank paper attached to each of the copies you'll get. Your task is to write down your thoughts by turns, sentence by sentence, all while trying to keep the final text consistent both by the means of structure and content. As I said, you may talk – but I highly advise you do not. Do you have any questions at this point?"

Murmurs echoed in the classroom. A hand was raised.

"Are we all going to read the same poem?" the perfectly practical Jane Andrews inquired.

"What will the poem be?" the hopelessly romantic Anne Shirley-Cuthbert breathed.

If by looking at Ruby Diana could have assumed that the former would fall of the bench, Gilbert had every right to believe the same scenario would come true for Anne.

Just mere minutes earlier she'd been as calm as a sphinx, determined to prove her friends that her assignment did anything but pleased her. Right now she was excited beyond belief, waiting for her teacher's answer as if she'd been awaiting a sentence on her life. Her eyes seemed even bigger now, shining with joy and hope, even though even she didn't quite knew what it was she was hoping for. She pursed her parted lips and swallowed nervously.

Gilbert let his smile widen at the sight.

"You will all read the same poem, yes," Miss Stacy confirmed simultaneously. "And it's the _Song from the Marriage of Geraint._ "

" _Idylls of the King_." Anne muttered in excited whisper as she followed her teacher with her gaze. She took two of the sheets Miss Stacy gave them and passed the rest to the students sitting behind her. "Oh, Gilbert, isn't this _thrilling?_ "

"I suppose it is for someone who cares for Lord Tennyson as much as you do," the boy answered with a grin. "I'm guessing you know this particular work as well?"

" _Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel..._ " Anne nearly sang to him. She would have laughed too, had they not been sitting feet away from where Miss Stacy stood.

Gilbert shook his head. "Is there any poem you haven't learnt by heart yet?"

"Quite a few, actually. But I'm doing my best to reduce the number – and as you said, I care for Lord Tennyson a great deal indeed. I hadn't even heard of him before coming to Green Gables and reading him for school, but oh, it was worth to wait for poetry of this sort."

"I only hope I will manage to keep up with your enthusiasm for him during this exercise. Don't hate me for saying this, Anne, but Lord Tennyson is not a favourite poet of mine."

"Oh, well," Anne gasped, a little disappointed. "Well, I still trust you will work fairly on this, and as long as you do, I'm sure we'll be alright."

"Again, I'm sorry you have to work with me."

It was her turn to shake her head.

"I've never said I didn't want to work with you," she said. "I just wish we weren't paired."

"Why then?" Gilbert asked, surprised.

"Because I tend to care about what other people think of me too much."

Gilbert let the subject drop, deciding to focus his attention on the poem in front of him that he still needed to read. Despite her knowledge of it, Anne kept glancing over his shoulder, her gaze shifting between the sheet and his face as she tried to determine how far into the poem he was and completely oblivious to the distraction she thus caused. Luckily for them, the poem wasn't long and even with Anne leaning so closely Gilbert eventually managed to finish his reading.

"Alright, I'm ready," he announced with a barely audible sigh of relief. "I say – ladies first?"

The girl by his side nodded eagerly and began to work immediately. Contrary to their doubts and fear, the cooperation was going smoothly for them – just as it always is when two young clever minds set of towards a mutual goal, striving to achieve the best of results. They could not refrain from a little competition, excelling one another in spot-on remarks and ideas that were just a little too far-fetched, but at the same time bearing in minds the main aim of their task and trying to make the essay coherent.

By the end of the lesson the sheet seemed to be flying from one end of the desk to the other and before they knew it, they had come to their conclusion. Anne froze, surprised.

"Anne? You're alright?" she heard Gilbert ask as she stared at the paper, her hand and pen hovering above it.

"Is that it?" she whispered in lieu of an answer, her gaze not leaving the sheet for a moment. "Are we really done already?"

Her companion laughed shortly. "I think we almost are. But I can see you still have something to add, and since you were the one to write the first sentence of this masterpiece I believe it's only fair if I write the last one. We do that and we're done."

"Well, I suppose I need a moment to think it through," she responded a little sheepishly. "The last words of the text are always the ones that matter most, so I can't write some nonsense as I did before."

"I don't think you've written any nonsense so far, Anne."

"Even if I didn't, these last lines still ought to stand out somehow. Please, just give me a moment and I'll certainly manage to come up with something."

"I have no doubt that you will," Gilbert answered a little too dreamily for his own liking; he cracked a grin at her after. "Just please make sure you don't ponder for too long, I'd actually like to have supper tonight.

Anne huffed and fixed her gaze on their essay. Her mind was working rapidly, suggesting dozens of ideas, all of them suitable for the ending of the essay – and none that could possibly be squeezed into a single sentence. Her eyes flickered towards the text of the poem, too dear to her heart not to be read again. So she did, and she smiled, feeling the warmth and passion, and _hope_ that seemed to radiate from the black verses of words.

 _"Smile and we smile, the lords of many lands;  
Frown and we smile, the lords of our own hands..."_

Yes, she was that. A mistress of her own fate, ready to curve her own future. And no one could take it away from her, not anymore, neither with words or deeds, because right now she felt strong enough to stand up for herself. She would not disregard Ruby's looks or feelings but she would not let the ungrounded sense of guilt dictate her life, either. She would not feel ashamed of what and who she was. And, most of all she would not -

"Hey, _carrots_."

All of her sudden confidence dissolved into thin air as soon as she heard Gilbert's words.

"What did you call me?" she asked, turning slowly towards him, her eyes wide with disbelief. The boy gave her an apologetic smile that suddenly felt so awfully _fake,_ even though she couldn't quite point out the reason why.

All of her musing, each and every of her recent resolutions seemed to be crumbling down, spoilt so recklessly by his untimely comment. All at once she felt a sting go right into her vulnerable heart, bringing back the memories she'd been trying so hard to repress, unable to stop the merciless train of thoughts that ran through her mind against her will, against her doubts, against her better judgement.

"I'm sorry, Anne, but I called your name twice before and you didn't react. You know I meant no harm."

She _knew_ she should not have felt offended by his words. She _knew_ that for him it was just a mere joke, a way to catch her attention, just like it had been all those months ago. But at the same time, she could not ignore the memories the words brought to her and how much harm they truly did.

 _Carrots._

 _Red-head._

 _ **Witch.**_

And it hurt almost physically to think that he was the one person who didn't realise that.

In a second her focus was on their shared paper again, as she scribbled the first thing that came to her mind, only half caring whether it was good enough for Miss Stacy's standards. She didn't care about Gilbert's astonished glare, either, nor for the words that came from him after the first moment of stupor. And yet, he kept talking.

"For heaven's sake, Anne, what's _wrong_?" he asked, bewildered. She didn't grace him with a response. "You can't possibly be mad for that silly nickname, can you? You were miles away and I needed to bring you back before Miss Stacy would notice – I never would have done it otherwise. And you know I didn't mean to insult you. Please, just look at me and I promise I will never -"

"Miss Stacy, we're done!" was all Anne cared to say. She was standing now, turned towards the back of the room where their teacher was checking the progress made by her friends. "Should we leave it on your desk or -"

"Anne, what are you doing?" Gilbert hissed from his seat, completely taken aback by her actions. "We haven't finished, I still need to write my part!"

"Just lay it on your own desk and I will collect it. I'll be there in a minute, so you just wait, dear," Miss Stacy answered almost simultaneously.

Anne felt that just this once, she could not follow her beloved schoolmarm's request so easily.

"Oh, yes, but I was wondering..." she tried again, trying for all her might to keep her voice even and calm. "It has just occurred to me that I should be back at Green Gables as soon as I can today, and since you said this assignment is the last of our tasks for today I hoped I could go home at once – if only that's alright with you, of course."

"In such case, I don't see why you should not go," Miss Stacy admitted; she sounded a little reluctant but Anne could not bring herself to pay any mind to it right now. "Although I would like to discuss your working process with you as soon as I can – so please make sure to come to school a few minutes early on Monday, will you?"

"Of course."

"And I am going to give you some more reading for the weekend so it is up to you to learn what it is from your friends."

"I will."

"You may go, then" the teacher waved her hand and smiled before returning to the pair she'd been helping before.

Anne wasted no time and began to pack immediately.

"Anne, slow down a little," Gilbert pleaded once again. He tried to stop her by grabbing her hand but she yanked it away furiously. "I'm sorry, I had no idea it would annoy you so much."

" _Annoy me_?" she echoed flatly.

"I didn't want to distress you," Gilbert went on stubbornly. "And I really am sorry. Weren't you one to say that an apology can go a long way?"

"Only if you mean it," she retorted mercilessly and straightened up even more. "Now if you'd be so kind and let me through, I have more duties to attend to and I can't do it with you blocking my way out."

Gilbert did as he was told, not finding the strength to oppose her any longer. Anne stormed past him without a second thought and marched across the classroom, grabbing her hat and almost slamming the door behind her.

There were no broken slates, no shouts or outbursts.

No temper had been lost.

Only a miserable girl of fifteen, with a crack in her heart and tears in her eyes, that somehow stung more than ever before.


	4. He could hurt her like like nobody else

If someone had asked Anne as to when her gait had turned into this feverish flight, she could not have answered.

She didn't even fully realise she'd been running until she stumbled on a stone under her feet and almost hit the ground in result – but even then, she did not stop.

She couldn't.

She wanted to run, _needed_ to run. She needed to flee, to sprint into the forest, regardless of the warmth of the day and the dust on the road, and by this vent at least some of the anger that was now raging inside her. It wasn't even about finding the necessary solitude and protection the woods gave but about the very exercise that suddenly seemed to be the only way to keep her wounded self from going crazy at once.

So she did run, faster and faster, her irregular, uncertain steps thudding against the hard sand of the road. Her free hand was pressed to her head to secure her hat from falling, while the other clasped the books in a tight embrace, pressing them against her chest as she scurried along the bushes, no longer able to pay any mind to the people she'd left behind or the impression she could have made on them.

She had tried to guard herself at first, and what's more, she was quite sure she had succeeded. When she had left the classroom, she'd made sure that her step would be nothing but dignified, brisk with confidence while restrained with composure, a perfect step for a perfectly normal situation. She'd had no desire to make a scene again; she couldn't have given in to her emotions this time.

She could not have let Gilbert Blythe see how much his words had disturbed her.

And yet, all of this had disappeared from her thoughts as soon as she'd crossed the threshold of the school, immediately leaving her vulnerable soul to her own insecurities and all the demons she could not yet fight. She had felt her legs shake and her hands tremble, while the first tears had begun to fall from her lashes, sliding down her cheeks; and she had known there was no use wiping them away.

Instead, she had done the only thing left for her to do.

She'd run.

She had as if her own life had depended on it, for the first time in her young life blind and deaf to the world around her, indifferent to all pureness and beauty she had marvelled upon this very morning. The sun shone on her, playing on her auburn locks and she did not see it; the friendly wind she'd learnt to know and love so well tried to whisper into her ear, but she was racing too fast to hear. All she saw and heard and felt were Ruby's scowl and Gilbert's words... and the memories both of those had eventually summoned.

 _Witch, witch,_ _ **witch**_ _._

Even if the word was harsh and untrue and not what either of her friends had meant, it hit far too close to home for her to just ignore it. How could she? How, when she had already felt so plain and weak, so strange and different, so _undesi_ _rable_ _?_ But what was worse, what argument did she have to contradict those thoughts? She _was_ nothing more than an orphan, a freak, an abomination with too many dreams and too many words, and nobody in their right mind could possibly think of her differently.

 _We're sick of you, you and your_ _ **stupid**_ _stories._

She stumbled on another stone, wavered but caught her balance and rushed ahead; her face met with the fresh sprigs of a very young tree and she paid it no mind. Tears flew down her cheeks freely now and she still didn't care to wipe them away.

Maybe the girls at the orphanage had been right, after all, and the best anyone could ever feel for her was pity. Maybe that was why the Cuthberts had taken her in or why Diana had agreed to be her bosom friend _(hadn't Anne have to ask her to become one?)_ or why Ruby had seemingly changed her mind about associating with her.

After all, she had nothing else to offer. No looks, no manners, no wisdom. She had _some_ gifts, she supposed, but no sane person would ever truly approve of those.

 _No one will_ _ **ever**_ _want you._

She was not what the world wanted to see, and her poor, plain looks were nothing but a perfect reflection of her inner worth.

Maybe Gilbert had been right to mock it.

She stopped abruptly and looked around, her hand leaving her hat and pressing against her mouth instead. It was as if the thought had come from some strange, external source instead of her own troubled mind, and now she had been trying to discern it, while half-consciously realising it was indeed she who had voiced it, and feeling ashamed for ever allowing such blunder.

"What am I saying?" she asked herself, leaning against a thick, old tree behind her. "What _nonsense_ is this? He has no right to mock it, _no one_ has. And to tell that Marilla and Matthew don't care! And Diana? Well, _that's_ slander, no less!"

She let out a sigh and a groan, suddenly feeling weaker than she had for a very long time. Her lips were still trembling and her eyes were still fogged with tears, and as she had ended her flight, she realised how much it had exhausted her. All she wanted was to let her knees buckle under her weight – to curl up against the old tree – to hide and disappear, never to be found again.

She was on the ground before she knew it.

"Why do I even care?" she asked herself severely. "He's just a silly boy with no respect to other people's feelings or too little brain to know that he may be wounding them. So, he's either reckless or cruel – and neither of those two types of people deserve to have their judgment valued."

Truly, when she had hit Gilbert with that slate, she'd thought it was too much.

Now she thought it might have been too little.

And still, there was a part of her that knew she would have been wrong to repeat any such action this day, and not only because it would have ruined the frail reputation she had so carefully built. A soft, quiet voice whispering that she had no right to hold any grudge against the boy who had wanted nothing more than to save them both from scolding for not paying enough attention to the assignment at hand.

The boy she had almost learnt to call her friend.

"Would a friend do anything like this?" she answered the voice, with a hint of vexation and hurt. "If the slate accident wasn't enough, shouldn't my own words be? There were so many other ways to catch my attention – how could he use my pitiful looks for it when he knows how much I hate them?"

Because he _did_ know. Their talks were rare and accidental, but not unwelcome, and if only the time allowed they lasted long enough for Anne to share her sourness on some or other of her physical features, depending on what the conversation touched upon or what had happened right before it. She hadn't yet realised that the reason why she did that was the attentive, honest attitude Gilbert always assumed when she was near. She didn't know that it was his company that made her feel so at ease, so _safe_ , to the point where she was ready to talk about at least some of her insecurities, without the fear of being scolded or laughed at, ridiculed for caring too much for her outer beauty while he silently agreed that there was much to improve.

He had never made her feel ridiculous.

He had never made her feel plain.

But then there was a matter much more important than either of this. It was a subject too painful to be brought up carelessly, especially with someone she had barely started considering a friend, even if that someone was wise and caring, and understood more that could be expected at first.

 _The Asylum._

No, not just that. It was her past in general that she found so difficult to talk about, not only to her not-quite-not-yet friends, but even to the kindest and closest of souls around her, the true Kindred Spirits that she was sure she could call by this name. She couldn't talk about it to Matthew for fear she would upset him; she could not do that to Marilla for fear that her outer reaction would be too cool to bear. Even Diana, her dear, beloved Diana was out of the question, as she had lived too good and happy a life to imagine or comprehend the horror Anne had had to go through for so many years.

Gilbert was the first person whom she considered right for sharing her heavy burden with.

They had never spoken of it openly, the subject still being too difficult for her to mention. And she didn't want to share it with him yet – all she needed was this quiet certainty that one day, she would be able to do it and that he would understand when she did. Besides, she had slipped too many times for him not to realise the seriousness of it, even if he was not to hear any details of it yet.

Contrary to her previous words, Anne realised better than anyone how smart Gilbert truly was. She also suspected that had it been any other day, she would have got over his comment with nothing more than a roll of her eyes and a sigh, perhaps emphasised by a not so subtle stroke on the back of his head. She would have whined and he would have laughed, and they would have forgotten about it before any of them had left their seat.

Unfortunately, it was _not_ any other day. It was this one, the day of nightmares and dread, of memories that were not to be repressed.

She realised with dismay that she could not talk about those memories to him after all.

And yet, this realisation, however sad and disappointing, was soon overshadowed by another, one that made her hug her legs and bite her lip at the wave of anxiety that had suddenly come over her.

In some ways, in some very important ways, Gilbert understood her like nobody else.

He could _hurt_ her like nobody else.

She would not let him hurt her again.

"Not in this life," she announced boldly.

Anne jumped to her feet in an instant, wiping away the last drops of tears, leaning over the books she had put away earlier. She took a few deep breaths, and straightened her hat – the last thing she needed right now was for Marilla to take notice of the state she was in. She looked around, for the first time sincerely interested in determining her location and gasped, seeing that she was almost at the edge of the woods, with only a few dozens yards from the border of Green Gables farm.

Her dearest home was close and whatever conclusions she might have come to, she was not going to let them affect the happiness the mere thought of _having a home_ gave. With a home like Green Gables she was sure she could face anything.

Even if it would still hurt to do it.


	5. I saw Gilbert Blythe around Lovers' Lane

"Oh, but it's good to be alive and to be going home."

Anne smiled gently as she leaned against the white fence, her eyes fixed on the white house before her. Her heart was still beating fast from her exercise and the musing that had followed it, but she was breathing steadily now, determined to calm down her nerves completely before walking inside and meeting Marilla in a rather close proximity.

Her sadness wasn't gone; but at least now she felt strong enough to believe and hope that it soon could be.

"Who are _you_ talking to again?" a voice roused her from her meditation. "Bell isn't here, and I'm definitely not listening."

"Jerry!" she exclaimed, surprised, turning rapidly towards the boy, only too see him smirk at her with careless satisfaction; she huffed, resigned. "Will you ever learn that it's wrong to eavesdrop?"

"How can I eavesdrop when I'm not listening to you? I've just said that I wasn't."

Anne frowned at him. "If you weren't, how could you tell I was talking at all?"

"I don't need to listen to 'ear you. You talk way too loudly for your own good."

Anne snorted in response, deciding to ignore Jerry's words as well as the smug grin he was wearing, clearly happy with his own show of wit. She climbed on the fence and jumped off it, landing swiftly on the Cuthbert ground.

"I don't think it's very ladylike to climb fences like this," the boy remarked again, resting on the fork he'd been carrying. "Personally, I don't think you're much of a lady anyway, but Miss Cuthbert would definitely scold you for doing it. Or are you going to play a boy again?"

"First of all, stop saying _definitely_ , and second, no, I am not. But I'm also not going to walk around the yard only because I happen to be wearing a dress."

"Must be uncomfortable."

"It's perfectly alright, thank you."

"For you, maybe. But even if you're not a lady, you're still a _girl_ and girls don't do that."

"You mean, Diana Barry doesn't?" Anne asked in a sudden rush of inspiration, grinning teasingly. Her strategy had worked perfectly, and Jerry looked away, mumbling something about her being ridiculous and blushing madly as he did, to which Anne laughed quietly on her part and ruffled the boy's hair playfully. Jerry only glared at her.

She set off towards the house right after, humming nothing in particular, trying hard to keep her mind focused on the memory of flustered Jerry rather than on the events from during and after her classes. Just like her little scheme from moments before, it worked remarkably well – until she reached the porch and stopped, realising she might need a plan for this next encounter, too.

She didn't know what time it was. True, she had left school earlier than usually, but she had no idea how big the difference really was, nor how much her journey had taken her. She might have run, too, and run fast; but she had also spent quite a while pondering over her own misfortunes and how much _that_ had taken remained a perfect mystery.

All she could do was hope that she was not _too_ late.

With a deep, calming breath Anne pushed the door and crossed the threshold, ears strained expectantly for any kind of indication. Was Marilla at home? Was it the tea time or had she missed it already – and if she had, how late she was exactly?

Luckily for her, all of her questions were soon to be answered as Marilla was indeed at home, in the kitchen and just about to pour the water for their upcoming tea. Anne sighed with relief and began to undress quietly.

Her Guardian noticed her as soon as she did.

"You're home early," she commented with the slightest surprise, so well concealed that it could only be observed by those who knew her best. Anne hung her hat on the rack and turned abruptly towards her.

"Oh, right. Miss Stacy let us go earlier," she explained vigorously. "She said that whoever would finish the final exercise for today could leave before the usual time and, well, that's exactly what I did."

Marilla raised an eyebrow and smiled teasingly at her ward. "And you didn't stay to discuss another theory of yours with her? Why, that would be the first time!"

"She was busy helping others at the time," Anne said hesitantly, biting her lip. "And I'm feeling a little tired, so I thought it best to take the chance and head home when I could. I'll have plenty of time to talk to her after the weekend."

"Tired? And why would you be?"

"It has just been a long day, I suppose. With an early start in the morning and quite some work at school, it's only natural that I feel a little weary. Now, what can I do to help?"

"You can start with lifting your hat from the floor," Marilla's voice echoed with the usual sternness as she waved a cloth towards the rack. "It fell down as soon as you turned around, but I suppose you were too caught up with whatever is going through that head of yours to notice. Truly, Anne, I thought you'd get rid of at least some of your skittishness by now."

"Oh, but I was only focused on what you were saying and you surely you can't blame me for that!" Anne responded with a small chuckle. "But of course, I'll go fetch my hat immediately."

"You should also carry your books to your room instead of leaving them on the table around meal time," Marilla was unforgivable. "Put them in place and do the same with your apron, and then you can come downstairs and prepare the tea."

Anne nodded and did as she was told, feeling Marilla's eyes on her. She walked towards the kitchen table and glanced up with a grin. "I feel like if I was back to the first weeks of my stay here, with you telling me exactly what and how to do. It feels strange – but somehow nice at the same time."

"Well, I wouldn't have done it if you behaved like a sensible girl I naively hoped you had finally become. What is it with you today, child?"

"Oh no, now you're calling me _child_ too, just like you did at first," Anne gasped. "I hope you're not thinking of sending me away again?"

What was meant to be an innocent joke somehow managed to stir her up when an unpleasant thought crossed her mind that even if ungrounded, the idea wasn't as queer as it might have seemed.

"Now, what nonsense is this," Marilla's answer brought her back to reality. "I've called you a child because that's what you still are, and for no other reason. Although you're right, it feels strange to me as well, when I think about it."

"You're going to keep calling me Anne, then?" the girl laughed shortly, a little more at ease now.

Marilla pursed her lips, hiding a smile of her own. "I am, but unless you get down to fulfilling your duties at last, I am going to make sure I pronounce it with no _e_ in it. Now, scat!"

Anne laughed openly this time and gathered her books, before running towards and up the stairs. She was back in no time, ready to do whatever was expected of her. She filled the kettle and set it over the hearth, prepared the tea and preserves, and bread, all in perfect pace and order, as if she'd been trying to show her Guardian that she had indeed grown in both skills and wisdom and that the many lessons life – and Marilla herself – had given her, were not in vain in the least.

The truth was, Anne was barely thinking of impressing anyone at the moment. If she had, it would have ended like many times before, with her being so focused on her quest that she would have forgotten about half of the things in the process, probably breaking a cup or two before even getting close to the end of it. Now, however, she was merely tending to the task she had practised enough times to feel more than comfortable doing it.

Once more, she thought it was exactly what home should feel like.

She was done with it soon, and all that was lacking was Matthew's presence – but that inconvenience was soon gone as the man in question had appeared in the room. They all sat down, said their prayers, and began to eat, all of them enjoying the peacefulness of the moment, Anne most of all.

"You're awful quiet today, Anne," Matthew remarked eventually, looking fondly at the girl next to him. "I was hoping for some more of your school stories, but it seems like it was rather boring today."

"Oh, no, not at all," she protested wholeheartedly. "It's never boring, not with Miss Stacy anyway, and I think I've reached the point where I could appreciate school for its own sake, even if the teacher wasn't any good. Of course, it is far nicer to have Miss Stacy over Mr Phi... over anyone else, but I am convinced I would still manage to find joy in learning itself, even if with a little less enthusiasm. I don't think my ambitions would ever allow me to be truly bored again."

"Isn't that great, then," Matthew commented with a smile.

"It most certainly is! I think it's delightful to have ambitions. I surely am glad I have such a lot."

"Speaking of ambitions," Marilla joined the conversation as she put down her cup with a small clink. "How are your grades? Are you still coming first in class?"

"Well -" Anne hesitated. "It's really hard to tell, now that Gilbert has given up his extra studies and is back on our course on normal terms. He can be a rival, you know, and sometimes it's difficult to keep up with him – he definitely _is_ better at geometry but I think I can safely say I'm considerably better at English – and the rest is more or less a draw, I guess."

Marilla hummed in acknowledgement, but said no more. Anne was once again left to her own musing, something she very much appreciated, although at the same time, she thought it would have been a little easier if she had a conversation to hold onto. Preferably a conversation that would not involve Gilbert Blythe in it.

She clung to the first idea that came to her mind. "How was your trip to Carmody, Matthew?"

The man looked up at her. "It was good enough, alright. Nothing in particular to tell, though, I'm afraid."

Anne nodded, a little disappointed. She hadn't expected Matthew to spoil her with stories, of course, but she had hoped his answer would have been at least a little more than the two sentences he had just produced. She sighed and decided to focus on her meal.

"I think I saw Gilbert Blythe circling around Lover's Lane," Matthew threw in unexpectedly some time later, right when Anne had managed to chase the last of her thoughts of the boy away. She jerked up her head and fixed her eyes on Matthew once more, while he added, "Though I don't know what he could be doing there at this time of day."

"He must have decided he had too much time on his hands and taken a longer path home," she offered quietly. "Although why he would walk by Green Gables, I can't hope to know."

"Gilbert doesn't seem to be a boy with too much time at all," Marilla opposed. "He may not be studying that much anymore, but he still has a farm to look for and such work is never really done."

"Maybe he just assumed he deserved a break this time," Anne explained coolly, determined not to let her own agitation show. "He finished earlier, too."

"Did he, now?"

"Yes. We were..." she hesitated. "We were sort of working together on this particular task, so we obviously finished around the same time. He needed to finish something, so he left after me – I don't know when exactly, but it couldn't have been much later."

Marilla raised her eyebrows at her. "And how is working with Gilbert?"

" _Enlightening_ ," Anne answered, with a little too much sarcasm ringing in her voice. "So much that I don't think I could handle it again any time soon."

"Why, you sound terribly harsh now," Marilla frowned. "I thought you two were getting along. What did poor Gilbert do this time to make you speak of him like this?"

"Oh, nothing new really, although I can hardly agree to call him poor. We were interpreting a poem, and I might have been a little too focused on my own thoughts, so he decided to catch my attention by calling me a vegetable again. I suppose I should be grateful that he didn't pull my braid this time."

"A vegetable?" Matthew asked in amused astonishment.

"A very specific, orange vegetable."

"Good Heaven," Marilla sighed deeply, raising her eyes to the ceiling, as if she prayed to the Lord above that what she'd heard wasn't true. "I hope you didn't break another slate on his head, did you?"

Anne straightened up with dignity and denied, "No, I didn't. I have come to learn that physical violence of this kind is not a proper way of solving problems. Besides, if it hadn't worked the first time, there was little chance it would be any different now."

"Thank goodness," Marilla sighed, visibly relaxed. "It was bad enough the first time it happened."

"I told you, Marilla, that I never make the same mistake twice. Now if you excuse me -" Anne said, rising from her seat. "I have some studying to do. If people want to remember me as nothing more than a red-head, then so be it; but I want them to remember me as an educated one at least."


	6. One day, she would harness it all

For the thousandth time in her young life Anne thought there was nothing more lovely than morns.

"I never can be in the depths of despair in the morning," she mused to herself as she stretched against her pillow, revelling in the milky coloured beams that had managed to creep into her bright bedroom and paint it with their light. "Although I suppose I wasn't truly in the depths of despair last night, either. I don't think one _can_ be in the depths of despair when they're working over their geometry exercises – as hope divesting as they can be, they're also terribly unromantic, and there is nothing like a bit of practicality to lift you out from your misery."

All of this was true, although even in her current, cheerful mood Anne had to admit that she had not felt entirely peaceful when she had finally gone to bed last night. The memories of her earlier revelations were still fresh in her mind and regardless of her own resolutions, she had feared they would reflect in her dreams, bringing back even more memories, ones so much more difficult to deal with. Her fears had been in vain; the general exhaustion, combined with her extra studying session had turned out to be the best recipe for a long, undisturbed sleep. Now she was awake, well‑rested and ready to face whatever was waiting for her.

At this point of day, she was sure she could conquer the world.

No one had ever achieved that from their bed, however, and Anne had enough humility to realise that she was no different. She threw away her duvet and jumped on the floor, only to spring towards the window immediately after. She opened it and leaned forward to kiss Snow Queen's last white buds.

"I am so glad it is May already," she shared her thoughts with the old tree, certain that _she_ understood her. "I do not mind rain or snow, or even the howling wind of the other seasons, but it is far easier to stay hopeful when the Sun is smiling at you the way it is now – even if it is hard to stay indoors and study instead of just going out to dance around the trees. But then again, who said I could not practice geometry outside?"

Thus resolved, Anne made her way back to the bed to make it. She did the job carefully, recalling the first few times she had done it under Marilla's scrutinising eye with a smile.

They had both come a long way since the day Anne had arrived to this house. They had learnt a lot, lesson after lesson, making and fixing mistakes, coming to understand things neither of them had dreamed they'd even come across. They had talked and listened, argued and joked. They had surprised one another a great deal, sometimes on purpose and sometimes so spontaneously that they had been surprised themselves.

Anne had always known that her understanding with Matthew was instant and natural. But her closeness with Marilla was _earned_.

The breakfast on Green Gables was nothing but usual that day. Since Anne had regained her usual confidence, she was as ready to chat as ever and neither Matthew or Marilla interrupted her careless twittering, except the one time when Marilla felt it was her duty to remind her ward of the toast on her plate before it would get cold again.

All in all, it was a promising start of a promising new day.

"I am going to see Rachel today," Marilla announced near the end of their meal. "I'll be leaving soon after breakfast, so make sure you clean up after it, Anne. I may also need some help with the baking later in the afternoon, but I don't think there is much more to do. If you want to meet with Diana or Ruby, you are free to go."

"Thank you, Marilla -" Anne responded politely, "but I don't think I'll be meeting them. I'd like to devote myself to studying today, and I'm afraid I won't do much of that if I leave the house – leave the farm, anyway – and I don't want to risk getting distracted too early. It's a great deal easier to fulfil one's plans if one starts immediately and make no breaks; otherwise, it takes a lot of will to end the fun and go back to responsibilities. And we all know that strong will isn't my most obvious asset."

"You can be stubborn, that's one thing for sure," Marilla opposed. "If only you could apply it into something more practical than say, hating your hair, we could all benefit from it."

"I will be stubborn about making my grades rise, then," Anne answered with a confident smile, choosing to ignore the bit concerning her looks. "I spent last evening practising geometry, but I'm afraid all I learned is how much I didn't know. However, Miss Stacy always says that's the first step on our path to learning, so I am not going to let it dishearten me but I'll work even harder on it instead. Geometry will be my weak spot no more."

"Now Anne, don't you think you could let Gilbert top you in one subject at least?" Matthew threw in with a smile.

Anne shook her head.

"I do not," was her suddenly cool, dignified answer. "It's not really a competition if you don't do your best in every way. It is very possible that I will not manage to equal Gilbert in this particular field, but that can't stop me from trying."

"Not everything in life is a competition, Anne," came Marilla's calm suggestion.

"Of course not," Anne answered her with confidence. "I would never dream of competing with Diana, or Ruby, or Cole. I don't think I am that competitive in general – but it is useful at school to have someone you can compare your scores with. It's motivating, that's all."

Marilla nodded and stood up, her eyes never leaving Anne's face. "I suppose you are right, as long as you keep the rivalry a friendly one. I don't want to hear about any animosity between you and Gilbert on that background, do you understand?"

"Of course, Marilla." Anne followed her Guardian's example and stood up too, readying herself to collect the dishes. Her sight was fixed on the table, however, and she did not feel like raising it any time soon – nor like adding anything more to their brief, unexpected conversation.

What _could_ she say? That there was no fear of holding grudge against Gilbert because of his academic records, simply because she had already decided to hold it for different reasons entirely? That he didn't need to top her in any of their shared subject to hurt her, for his silly words could do it with so much more ease?

Or maybe she should tell them how vulnerable she felt at the very thought of Gilbert having a good reason to insult her _consciously_ , because no one could do it as precisely as he, if only he so wished?

Anne shook her head again, reminding herself of the resolutions she had made. Friends or not, academic rivals or not, she would not let the thoughts of Gilbert Blythe stir her up. She was still angry at him for his untimely comment and she could still feel the sting the memory gave her every time she recalled it; but she also knew that she had already spent more time pondering about it than she ever should have. She was not going to mention it to him for sure, and she doubted she should mention it to anyone else.

Gilbert Blythe was there and there was nothing she could do about it – except deciding she would not give him any more of her time, neither in mind or body. She would not be rude to him, no; she would simply ignore the fact he was there at all.

She had done it before, she could easily do it again.

As announced earlier, Marilla had left Green Gables before Anne managed to bring the kitchen back to its usual clean and empty state. Matthew left shortly after, bidding his adieu with the warmest of smiles – and when he did, there was nothing left for her to do but go to the white room in the east gable and put her ambitious academic plan into action.

"Maybe I really should go out and study in the fields," she mused to herself as she jogged upstairs, stepping lightly yet surely towards her destination. "The day is so bright and warm, and I could see dear old wind playing gently with Snow Queen's branches – oh, but what am I saying? Wind can't be old, and even if _some_ winds are, I am certain the May wind is not."

Her mind was made up by the time she reached her door. She walked into the room and up to her books, piled neatly on one side of her desk. She reached for her slate together with the geometry textbook, and hesitated when she saw the one on English literature peek from underneath it.

"In case geometry turns out to be too much for the outside reading," she told herself sternly as she took it in her hands. "If it does, and I have nothing else with me, I may end up daydreaming yet another story – It will be of more use to prepare for my next English class, even if I don't need to work much on that. And I am determined to focus on that wretched geometry course first."

Not much later Anne was settled comfortably under the old cherry tree, drawing figures and scribbling equations, consulting the theory every so often, checking each and every of her results three times at least. It was not easy and would probably frustrate her eventually, hadn't it been for the lovely aura surrounding her. With the few clouds drifting across the sky and the soft breeze ruffling her braids, even geometry could not make her lose her spirits, and as it usually occurs in such cases, Anne soon felt a wave of satisfaction at the realisation of how much easier the task became with time. She was far from mastering it, and she was well aware of that; but for the first time in forever she allowed herself to believe that one day, she would harness it as well.

The feeling was emphasised by the little bit of pride she took in the fact that she had not given up still, despite the dream-provoking atmosphere and her initial reluctance. Whether it was her will getting stronger or her stubbornness turning towards the right thing, she didn't know. It had worked, however, and Anne could only feel grateful that it had.

A thought of Gilbert didn't cross her mind once.

Still, even her successes could not make her enjoy this particular subject of her studies any more than was necessary to push her through it. She was glad, that was true; she was satisfied and that was true as well. And yet, she was perfectly ready to finish her work on it as soon as her judgement allowed her.

"A quarter more spent on this and I can move on to English with my conscious clear," she hummed softly, looking up at her tree friend and smiling at her with affection. "Algebra and Latin are still waiting for me in my room, but I will leave those for later, when the Sun sinks low and the air gets cold. I could not bring myself to work on those now; I've done enough of geometry to last me for a week, and the only way I regain my enthusiasm for studying is to focus on something I can enjoy thoroughly, with no doubts about it. Poetry, here I -"

"Anne!" she was interrupted by a sudden, joyful call coming from the gate. She turned around and peeked out from behind the thick trunk, only to see three girls trotting happily towards the house and looking around, clearly in search of her. Anne grinned even more widely and waved at them from her spot. The girls noticed her then and broke into a run immediately.

Anne laughed shortly and closed her book at once.

"Here you are!" Diana exclaimed excitedly as she fell on her knees right beside her, Ruby and Jane following close behind. "I shouldn't be surprised to find you here on a day like this, even though Marilla told Jane you'd said you wanted to study today."

"I _am_ studying, Diana," Anne answered with a teasing smile. "At least I had been until you three showed up."

"Oh, you make it sound as if you didn't want to see us. And even if you don't, I promise you will be more than happy about it soon, when we tell you everything."

Anne raised her eyebrows at her bosom friend before shifting her gaze on two others. "And what is _everything_ , exactly?"

"Something that will improve your spirits for sure, as it is both adventurous and romantic – and Lord Tennyson is involved in it."

Anne felt her stomach tighten at Diana's last words. It was silly, and she knew it; she loved Lord Tennyson's poetry like no other and it felt wrong to taint this love with the petty thoughts of yesterday, especially when she had seemingly come in control of those thoughts. Still, that was not what she had planned for today.

"I would love to go with you, but I need to stay home and study," she said hesitantly, glancing at the book on her lap and the other one on the grass beside her. "I've only touched upon geometry and you know how much of a struggle it is for me – and there is still more work for me to do."

"But you study so much already!" Ruby gasped with astonishment. "You are already the smartest girl in our class, what else do you want?"

"Ruby's right," Jane concurred with her companion. "You've left us all behind long ago, the only person that has any chance with you is Gilbert, but even he needs to work hard to keep up with you – I heard him say that to Billy last week."

"Gilbert is awful smart though, isn't he?" Ruby sighed dreamily.

Anne clenched her jaw but forced a smile nevertheless. "Gilbert or no Gilbert, there is always room for improvement. But you are right, I suppose – it is Saturday after all and I should still have enough time for my studies in the evening. And Miss Stacy always says that knowing when to take a break is as important as learning itself."

Diana was beaming.

"I am so glad you think so," she said. "And it is such a great coincidence you're wearing your white dress today!"

"Wait, what?" Anne laughed again, taken aback by her friend's sudden comment. She gathered her books and rose, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. "What does my dress have to do with it?"

"Oh, well," it was Diana's turn to grin with satisfaction. "One could hardly imagine Elaine wearing anything else, don't you think?"


	7. He hurt more than just my pride

"Elaine? Dearest Diana, you must be joking!"

Anne almost let her books fall to the ground at the news. It had taken her a few moments to fully process her companion's words and her agitated exclamation was the only thing she had managed to say in result of said processing. Diana looked at her with the sort of self-content that made her think of Jerry – had she been in control of her own mind and body, she would tease the other girl mercilessly about it; however, that she was not, so instead she just tightened her grasp on her books, shifting her gaze from one of her friends to the other.

"You're serious?" she stuttered eventually.

Diana's composure was gone the second Anne had said the words.

"Very serious, Anne," she said with even more enthusiasm ringing in her voice. "Miss Stacy told us to read the poem before Monday after you left school yesterday. Of course, Josie Pye had to remind everyone that we had already worked on it with Mr Phillips; she used that annoyingly sweet tone she always assumes when she's talking to Miss Stacy, and I swear I get positively sick every time she does that. Anyway, Miss Stacy only said that repetition is key to learning – and how differently it sounded than when that old teacher said it, Anne! - and that if that's the case, the task is even easier and we should not complain. I am pretty sure she'd overheard us talking about it earlier; you know, when she had first announced interpreting Tennyson last Tuesday."

"We decided it was a perfect reason to give ourselves another chance and try to enact it again, hopefully with more luck this time," Jane picked up the other girl's explanation. "We agreed on it yesterday too, and spent the evening learning our parts, so you don't need to worry about prompting us and fully focus on playing Elaine instead."

"It is most wonderful news," Anne admitted, feeling her own voice crack with emotion. "But how could we do it? The last time we tried, Diana's mother came and told us directly not to even think of it. She might like me a little more than she did then or be a little more understanding in regard of Diana's manners, but I am sure she would not approve of us trying to do exactly what she told us not to do before. And Diana, didn't you say that your father made it clear about not wanting anyone to come anywhere near his boat?"

Diana shook her head, the mischievous smile still playing on her lips. "He meant his new boat, the one he only auctioned last month. He is perfectly alright with using the old one – he said we could use it whenever we wanted, as long as there's someone watching from the shore, and there will be all three of us standing there! And as to my mother, I dare say she never really knew what we were planning on doing, and she only got angry because we went out for too long when it was still really cold."

"Come on, Anne, it will be fun," Ruby murmured from her spot, although Anne couldn't tell whether it was anxiety or excitement that she was speaking with.

She rested her gaze on each of the visitors in turn and raised her eyebrows slightly. "There is something else you're not telling me."

Diana's face fell a little and she shifted nervously.

"Well," she began. "There _is_ also the fact that my parents won't be back from Charlottetown until tomorrow evening, so they will not interrupt us again."

Anne couldn't help but laugh openly at this final admission, unintentionally making her bosom friend blush with embarrassment.

"Diana Barry, you mutineer!" she exclaimed, still laughing, and only the books in her arms made her refrain from throwing her arms around Diana's shoulders and hugging her fiercely. "Why, this is indeed a perfectly wonderful news. Let me just go to my room and put those back on place, and you, could you please walk over to the barn and tell Matthew where we are heading? I don't suppose he'll answer you with anything more than a nod – dear Matthew still doesn't feel very confident in the company of any girl that isn't me, although I think he's rather used to Diana by now – and if you don't find him there, you can always tell Jerry. Just _please_ make sure he passes the information to Matthew this time!"

She was running towards the house in the next moment, while the girls strolled towards the other building, chatting animatedly. Anne didn't stop to look at them or to hear what they talked about – she knew exactly what it was and cared for nothing more than to join them as soon as it was possible.

Latin could wait and so could algebra. The adventure could not.

The four found themselves leaning over the well-used boat sooner than any of them expected.

"Alright, girls, you all know what to do," reminded Jane, the managing body of the whole operation. "Ruby will play Arthur, I will be Guinevere, Diana is our one handsome Lancelot. And Anne, of course, is Elaine."

"I am so very excited I can hardly hear my doubts," Anne whispered, her voice trembling with agitation. "But I would lie to say I don't have any. Are you sure you want to have a red-headed heroine? Of course, red is far better than green but I still don't think it's enough."

"Nonsense," Diana protested immediately. "If we wanted to follow every detail, we would have to put Ruby in the boat, and we already know that she will not play the part."

"I have no intention of dying of fright, thank you very much," Ruby confirmed resolutely. "You're the only one that could even _think_ of enjoying that."

"Besides, your hair has darkened so much since winter, and auburn looks so beautiful against that white dress of yours," Diana continued. "I am sure it will look even more wonderful if you let it down now."

Anne wanted to oppose with another of her long-prepared arguments, but her love for romance took the better of her. She agreed to play the part and walked towards to boat, decorated with an old, dark shawl Jane had bargained from her mother when Mrs Andrews wanted to discard it. Anne was readying herself to lie on it, when Ruby suddenly bade her to wait.

"We forgot to pick the flowers!" she explained immediately. "We can't have Elaine laid in an empty boat with nothing but an old shawl, can we? We _need_ flowers!"

The rest agreed with the observation and quickly decided on where they would go to search for the decoration. Jane and Ruby went first, Diana closely behind them, until Anne caught her arm and made her stop. She didn't say anything, only sending a silent plea with her eyes, hoping her bosom friend would understand the cue.

Diana did understand.

"Ruby, Jane, you go and gather the flowers alone, and I'll take care of Anne's hair so we don't waste any more time," she explained, having turned towards them with perfect reflex. "We all need to get back for tea and we don't know how long exactly Anne's... cruise will take."

When the other two resumed their walk, Diana turned back to Anne, ready to question her about the sudden need of her exclusive presence.

She abandoned the idea as soon as she saw Anne's pensive, slightly wistful gaze. She gave her friend am inquiring look – and waited.

Anne looked away, fixing her eyes on the water before them. She sighed.

"Diana, what is it really about?"

"What do you mean?" her companion stammered, taken aback.

"I mean _this._ Lord Tennyson. Lancelot and Elaine. My dress, and the flowers and – why are we doing this _now_?"

"I told you everything already, back at Green Gables. What else do you want to hear?"

Anne sighed deeply, _again_. "Please don't think I don't appreciate your efforts, Diana, because I really do. And you know that I've dreamed of enacting this scene with you, even more so after our first attempt. But I've always felt like I was the only one that did, and that you'd never want to try again – and then you come to Green Gables and tell me that you want to do this, and more, you have it all planned out... I just don't understand what could possibly have made you care about this so much, so suddenly."

"I've explained it to you, Miss Stacy -"

"Did not hear us talk about it on Tuesday, " Anne looked directly at her friend. "She was helping Moody with geography at the time. But fine, she told us to read _Lancelot and Elaine_ and it doesn't even matter why she did – but you three insisting on playing it now? That's a very different story."

Diana pursed her lips and sank down, seating herself on the side of the boat. "We just wanted to make you feel better."

It was Anne's turn to show her astonishment, her brows rising high, her mouth parting a little as she searched for suitable words.

"Make me feel better? Why would you think you needed to do that?" she asked eventually.

"The way you left school yesterday made it pretty clear you weren't feeling well," Diana answered patiently but couldn't refrain from giving Anne a knowing look. "You and Gilbert quarrelled, didn't you?"

Anne's eyes seemed to grow even bigger. "What? Why would you -"

"You worked so well for the whole time, scribbling your ideas as if your lives depended on it – you were very quiet, but I could see you smile and all those satisfied looks you threw at one another – as you _always_ do – clearly showed that you made progress, too. And then suddenly you stood up and called Miss Stacy, no, _interrupted_ Miss Stacy, Anne! And I saw Gilbert say something to you, too, but you just ignored him, only to storm out of the classroom the next moment."

"Well, you must have great attention span to have noticed all that while simultaneously working on your own essay," Anne muttered, forcing a weak smile, hoping her words didn't come as too harsh. "I could never do that."

"Stop mocking me, Anne," Diana protested. "You are my friend and I just wanted to know how you were doing, taken your initial reaction for the results of the draw. And then it was difficult _not_ to notice things."

"Alright, fine," Anne admitted eventually, sitting down by her companion's side at last. "If knowing it will make you feel better then yes, Gilbert and I had a little... difference of opinions, I suppose. Again."

Diana shook her head with a smile. "Anne, you two are _always_ having a _difference of opinions_. What is so special about this one?"

"Perhaps the fact that he usually refrains from insulting me to my face," Anne huffed with irritation. "He didn't yesterday, however, and I honestly think the only thing we should be marvelling at right now is that I succeeded in staying as calm as I was."

"What did he say?"

"He called me Carrots again," Anne's voice had turned into whisper now, no matter how hard she tried to keep it loud and even. She cleared her throat. "I know it seems rather ridiculous to you, as it's just a meaningless word, and presumably with no bad intentions behind it, but I can't help it that for me it is still more than that. And I can't be friends with someone who consciously ignores that."

"So you're just going to ignore him in turn?" Diana asked, alarmed. "Only because he hurt your pride? Anne, you know it makes no sense!"

"He hurt more than just my pride, Diana," Anne answered surely, her jaw tightening a little after she did; all of the sudden, she felt completely exhausted of their short exchange. "And given the circumstances, ignoring him is the best I can do, for everyone's sake. Don't worry, though, I am not going to be mean to him like I once was – I suppose I will keep saying my 'hellos' and 'goodbyes' without much trouble, and I'll do my best to answer his questions politely; if he cares to ever ask any. I'm just not going to look for his company anymore, that's all. I'm sure Ruby will be glad."

"I think you're making a mistake," Diana summed up after a while of pondering over the matter. "You two could be great friends, I know this – but I'm not going to try to persuade you, since you have clearly made up your mind about it. And speaking of Ruby, I think the girls are coming back."

Anne nodded with silent gratitude and together they rouse, turning towards the approaching party.

Her hair was very much the same as it had been when they had left.


	8. For man is man and master of his fate

"Really, Diana, I thought you had stayed behind to work," Jane scolded them as soon as she and Ruby had come close enough to talk. "If you weren't going to change Anne's hairstyle at all, you could have as well come with us gather those flowers in the first place."

"Oh, don't make it sound as if _your_ work had been so much of a trouble," Diana responded cheerfully, clearly not wanting to show any change of behaviour, regardless of the talk she and Anne had just had. "You did great on your own; we would only have been in your way. And I already know what I _want_ Anne's hair to look like, so it will only take a few moments to get it done. You two can decorate the boat while I take care of it."

In a few minutes, Anne's auburn locks were down, a thin, loosely braided crown of plaits and flowers around her head keeping them in place. The flat was ready, too, adorned with wild flowers and leaves, fixed carefully on the dark shawl. Anne stopped short in awe.

"I positively _adore_ mayflowers," she hummed with admiration, smiling softly at the sight, already imagining herself lying in the boat, motionless and quiet. "Oh, this really is too wonderful to be true! But I will say no more, or I will spoil the effect. Here I lie, then – Diana, please pass me the bouquet."

Lie down she did and silent she remained. The other girls leaned over, spreading more flowers on her now still, quiet body, and kissed her brows with perfect pathos, saying their farewells as they did. They pushed the boat on the lake right after – and watched it float, until they realised they needed to reach the other side of the pond before Anne did.

They broke into a run at once – leaving Anne to the mercy of the wind and the gentle waves below her.

 _"...and she herself in white  
All but her face, and that clear-featured face  
Was lovely, for she did not seem as dead,  
But fast asleep, and lay as though she smiled."_

Anne's smile was true and genuine as she recalled the fine verses, thinking intensively of the tragedy behind them. _She_ was Elaine, for the first time not only imagining it, but playing the very part she loved and cherished so much, and for the first time in her fifteen year long life even the unwelcome thought of her reddish hair could not spoil it for her.

And that was when the boat began to leak.

She did not notice it at first, too caught up with her own, deep daydreaming. Even that was not intense enough, however, to leave her totally unfeeling, and even if it had been the case, the water of the Barry's pond was cold enough to stir the dead – with no regard to whether they were a heartbroken maiden in the days of Camelot or an old drunkard that was told to have drowned in Avonlea nearly a century before.

And it certainly was cold enough to make a very much alive Anne Shirley-Cuthbert come back to reality at once.

"No, no, no, _no!_ " she exclaimed, sitting up a little too rapidly and thus making the boat wobble dangerously. "It _can't_ be! Jane said they had checked the bottom carefully, and we only just rowed in this boat with Mr Barry last week! Oh, why do I always have to get into scrapes like this?"

Anne wanted to groan in exasperation, but realised it was of no use. She needed all of her energy if she was to somehow get herself out of this situation, and there was no time to waste on meaningless contemplation of her misery. She needed to come up with a plan; and she needed to do it quickly.

She scanned the boat with her eyes, easily concluding that it would stay afloat for no more than a few short minutes. Had she had any paddles – which as a deceased heroine she obviously did not – she might have tried to row at least a little closer to the shore, hoping it would last long enough for her to get there.

She had learnt how to swim, of course – but the whole distance was still too much for her, not to mention she doubted she could cross _any_ distance in the dress and boots she was wearing.

Her gaze fell on the bridge, looming about a dozen yards before her.

There was only one thing she could do.

"Dear God, please let the boat come close enough to the pile and I promise I'll do the rest myself," she begged urgently, too distressed to come up with any sort of a flowery prayer. "Just make it drift towards it and I will be perfectly alright taking it from there."

Her plea was heard and answered, and soon Anne found herself reaching towards the old, gnarled trunk and climbing onto it as soon as she did. Her position was far from comfortable to be sure, but the uneven surface of the pole made it feel secure at least. She watched the boat float away, shoved with the push she had involuntarily given it – and sink in the chilly depths of the Lake of Shining Waters, never to be seen or touched again.

"Mr Barry will be overjoyed, no doubt about that," Anne muttered to herself before finally letting a long repressed sigh and resting her forehead against the decayed wooden pole. "Alright, dear God, I thank you for doing your part; I think I did mine quite well, too. Now all I need is enough strength and patience to wait for help to arrive so if that's not too much to ask in a quarter, I'll be most grateful if you can give me some."

Unsurprisingly, the girl had run out of her patience much more quickly than she had of her strength, leaving her vexed and miserable, convinced she would not care for any sort of romance after what it had caused her that day. There was nothing romantic in _her_ position, after all – tried as she might, she could hardly imagine Princess Cordelia holding onto an old trunk under a bridge the way she did, not to mention that the heroine's rescue party surely wouldn't have taken so much time to come to her aid.

Just as soon as she thought that, a gentle, distant sound of rowing and soft whistling came to her ears, announcing the arrival of another, most assuredly not leaking boat.

Anne jerked her head towards the noise, a relieved expression reflecting on her tired countenance – the expression which dropped as soon as she had recognised the person that was nearing towards her.

Of all people in the world, she had to be found by no other but Gilbert Blythe himself.

" _For man is man and master of his fate_ ," she nearly spat with annoyance, marvelling at the irony of the situation. At the same time, she was becoming aware of other feelings that began to overcome her heart, creeping into her thoughts and poisoning her tender soul like an untimely drop of ink on a thin, blank sheet. The realisation didn't make her feel any better, only reminding her how much more difficult it was to fight a battle of this kind.

She had nothing against being vexed. She knew her anger well enough to control it, capable of suppressing it as well as letting it out in full might, depending on the situation she was in. She by no means had complete power over it – after all, emotions were something she'd been struggling with ever since she could recall – but it was enough to make her feel confident about her own dealing with it.

Yes, she could control her anger to a point; but she could not control her _fear_.

For a short moment Anne hoped that Gilbert would not notice her from the distance, and that it would stay the same as he neared to the bridge. She couldn't point out the grounds for such hopes, of course; Gilbert's sight was known to be excellent and there was no reason for her to think that anything had changed since she had last seen him. And he would have had to be utterly blind not to have noticed the unusual spot of white she currently represented.

Oh, he certainly made her feel ridiculous now.

Her forehead was pressed against the pole once more, as she pretended not to have seen him, silently praying he would ignore her the same way she did. That didn't happen, of course – as soon as she sent her request to the Heavens, she heard Gilbert's whistling stop, proving straight and clear that the Providence had different plans for her, and that Gilbert Blythe was very much a part of those plans.

Anne glanced towards the boy and saw him draw close to her position; she needed to use all that was left of her will not to groan.

"Anne Shirley-Cuthbert," he spoke to her a moment later, his tone a strange mixture of amusement and concern, as he finally reached the pole onto which the poor heroine was holding. "What on earth are you doing here?"

Anne did not deign him with an answer, restricting to giving him a most dignified, haughty glare before she fixed her eyes on the trunk before her again.

Gilbert rolled his eyes and let out a small, uncertain chuckle, but did not give up. "Seriously, Anne. What _are_ you doing?"

"Minding my own business, thank you very much," she responded eventually, making sure he'd hear the pride hidden behind her words. "Just as you should be minding yours. In fact, I'd be much obliged if you did just that."

"And leave you hanging here for goodness knows how long? Well, I don't think so," he protested with another laugh and stirred his boat even closer to were she was. He grabbed one of the knots of the old trunk to stabilise it – and offered his free hand to the girl in front of him.

Anne hesitated, her gaze flickering between his hand and eyes, as if she'd been trying to determine whether his intentions were really as noble as they seemed to be. She didn't _need_ his help; she was perfectly fine waiting for the rescue on her own, ready to hold on to her uncomfortable position regardless of the throbbing ache in her arms and legs, if only it would allow her to forget the unfortunate, humiliating encounter with the boy she had only just resolved to avoid.

Alas, it was another one of her wishes that was not to be granted that day. She glanced up at Gilbert's face again, hoping she'd see at least a little sign of impatience reflecting on it – anything that would let her believe that all he needed was another minute before he waved his hand and gave up on her – only to be met with his kind, hazel gaze and a smile widening ever so slightly at the contact.

Gilbert was many things, she remembered with dismay, but he certainly wasn't a quitter.

With a sigh, Anne decided to forget her pride for a moment and took the hand he had offered, allowing Gilbert to help her settle on the other side of the boat. She nodded with gratitude, but said nothing; her smile was nothing more than courtesy.

Gilbert wisely refrained from a comment, busying himself with the paddles and pushing their mean of transportation away from the pole, giving Anne nothing but a few furtive looks. Every time he was met with the same lofty expression, her pursed lips and lifted chin clearly indicating that she was not interested in starting a conversation, nor in participating in one he wanted to strike up.

Anne didn't want to talk to him; unluckily for her, it could not stop him for long.

"So you're really not going to tell me what all that was about? Even after I, once again, helped you out in the moment of distress?" he asked with a smile after a while.

Anne glared at him with annoyance. "We were trying to enact _Lancelot and Elaine._ The flat I was drifting in started to leak, so I climbed the pole; it was either that or meeting the bottom of the pond together with the boat. As for your assistance, it was not necessary in the slightest – I am sure the girls saw the flat sink and ran for help. They all must be on their way back as we speak."

"So that's what the screaming was about," Gilbert mused loudly in response. "I saw them when I was readying my own boat, but couldn't think of the reason why they would be this agitated. I suppose that's what seeing your friend drown does to you, though – either way, it might be a while before they get anywhere in such state. You would have spent quite a while holding onto that pole before they came back."

"And I would have been perfectly alright doing so, thank you."

Gilbert sighed with resignation, realising the red-headed girl in front of him was not going to give in to his attempts to defuse the tension that only seemed to increase. He still needed her to speak to him, however, even if in a different manner, about things far more important than leaking boats and not-quite-dead, freckled maidens. _He_ needed to speak to her.

"Anne, I want to talk about yesterday," he tried once more, the grin he'd been wearing no longer tugging on his lips. Anne fixed her eyes on him then, surprised, but still determined not to show any of her whirling emotions to him.

"There is nothing to talk about," she answered evenly, as if the topic really bore no meaning to her.

"Yes, there is," he protested and stopped rowing, as if he forgot it was the one thing he was expected to do. "You told Miss Stacy we were done with the assignment when we had just agreed we were not; you ignored my protests entirely; you snapped and left, disregarding my apologies, not to mention you never really explained what it was that had distressed you so much. You -"

" _I_ am not to blame, Gilbert, so I'd appreciate it if you stopped making it sound as if I was," Anne retorted fiercely. "You insulted me, _again_ , and you know it. Stop pretending that you don't know why I was 'distressed'."

Gilbert's jaw tightened.

"That's not what I meant," he said with emphasis. "Look, I am very, _very_ sorry that I called you Carrots, because I assume that's what this is all about – but is that really a reason to hiss at me and storm out of the classroom like that?"

"You hurt my feelings _excruciatingly_."

"Oh, yes, and here are the big words again," Gilbert rolled his eyes, although this time it was obvious the gesture was not at all teasing, and clenched his fingers on the paddles, as he finally decided to take up the rowing again. For the first time that afternoon Anne could hear a hint of irritation – or was it mockery? - resonating it his voice and all at once, she felt all hope for a truce was gone.

He was jeering her, then and there, openly and mercilessly. Compared to this, his behaviour from the day before truly was nothing, for then she could have at least try to believe that his words, as silly and improper, had been said in good faith. Right now however... He only proved how little her feelings really meant to him.

"You don't know what it's like," was all she could muster to say. "You don't know anything."

Had she cared to look at him then, she would have seen his expression soften at her words, worry once again reflecting on his face as he shifted his gaze back to her.

"Then tell me," he urged her gently, and let go of one of the paddles, reaching out towards her and covering her clenched, trembling hand with his own. "Whatever you may think, I didn't want to hurt you. But I can't promise you I won't do it again if you don't help me understand what was wrong in what I did."

Again – if those words had been said a few moments earlier, Anne might have given up and shared her thoughts with him, explaining all the details concerning her state of mind and heart on the day prior; but now it was too late. That moment Anne was weary to the point of sickness, vexed beyond imagination and more unhappy than she had been in a long while. She was on the verge of tears, too, and that only made her unfortunate irritation grow.

Most of all, however – she did not trust him anymore.

She snatched her hand out of his grasp as if it had burnt her.

"There is no point," she said hotly. "I don't think I could explain it well enough to anyone, and certainly not without and of my _big words_ , which you clearly find so absurd."

"Anne, stop niggling over my expressions and just tell me what it is all about. I don't want to fight with you."

She snorted. "You could have fooled me."

"For the last, time, Anne, I never meant to hurt you. I was teasing, joking, call it whatever you want to – but I didn't mean any harm. I _never_ have."

"Then why would you call me the one thing you knew I couldn't bear? You _know_ how much I hate my hair and you still chose to taunt me about it!"

"It was a _joke_! I thought we'd been friends long enough for you to see the difference!" Gilbert protested again, his voice beginning to echo with impatience at last.

"Friends do not behave like this," she responded fiercely, although she could hear her own voice crack with emotion. Tears were beginning to cloud her vision again, but she was not going to look away this time. "They think of what their actions may cause the others to feel and don't play with them so recklessly!"

"Oh, and I suppose _you_ have never said or done anything that could hurt the people you care about?"

Gilbert's irritation was outright now, his voice trembling ever so slightly, a scornful frown forming on his high forehead. Anne was no longer surprised at the sight and even if she had been, her own exasperation would have surpassed the shock easily. She wanted to retort, tell him how her dealings with the people she loved were none of his business, when the boat wobbled, meeting with the hard line of the shore, and halted.

Anne was up in a second.

"Thank you kindly for your assistance, Mr Blythe, even though it was _not_ necessary," she said with utmost civility, ignoring a scowl and a snort Gilbert gave her as she left the boat and stood right beside it. "Now excuse me, but I need to find my friends before they assume I have drowned for real – or before they share the information with anyone else."

"Oh, so you're just going to run away now?" Gilbert challenged her in the vain hope it would make her stay, if only to defend her honour once again.

"I'm not running away," she contradicted impassively. "I'm consciously choosing not to stay in your company any longer. Now _excuse me_ – and have a wonderful day."

And with that she was gone, leaving him in shock and disbelief, while she ran towards Orchard Slope, trying not to think of everything that had just happened to her – and about the thousand emotions that twirled in her chest as she did.

She sincerely prayed she would not live to regret any of it.

* * *

 _Author's note: And here the first part of the story comes to an end. Originally, it was supposed to be the end of everything - but the longer I thought of it, the more convinced I became that it deserved a continuation, a sequel of some sorts. So, a continuation you will get and I hope it will come soon, although I'd much rather pause here and only start posting again when I have at least a few chapters written in advance, so then you don't have to wait for so long then. I hope it won't take too long for me to get there._

 _In the meantime, I'll be happy if you give my other stories a chance and take a look at them - those that are already there as well as those that are about to come soon._

 _Until next time, my dearest Kindred Spirits!_


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